


Sorry, I Don't Speak Common (or, 5 Times Miri Thatcher and Her Soulmate Didn't Meet, and 1 Time They Did)

by guardingdark, mylordshesacactus



Series: Arcverse [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Characters Reading Fanfiction, F/F, Languages and Linguistics, Modern Faerun, Trans Female Character, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 08:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3284240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardingdark/pseuds/guardingdark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylordshesacactus/pseuds/mylordshesacactus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no fourth wall. The fifth and sixth walls are also questionable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorry, I Don't Speak Common (or, 5 Times Miri Thatcher and Her Soulmate Didn't Meet, and 1 Time They Did)

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back! As usual, we're not doing these in any sort of order: All That Dwell Within Your Gates was Arc 2 pt 1, this is Arc 3 pt 2.4ish with a side of AU Arc 1 and Arc 2 pt 1. Just nod along and pretend you understand our decision-making and it'll all work out in the end.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: this story contains depictions of and/or references to alcohol, animal sacrifice, blood, cannibalism, child abuse (including sexual), dubious morality, food, misgendering, murder, sexual harassment, slavery, swearing, and torture.
> 
> (Also, make sure you read the whole thing. Seriously. Scroll ALL the way down. I WROTE this fic and I sometimes stop before getting all the way through because Avi's coding gets me. Just double-check. Trust me.)

The train shudders to a painful stop, shrieking like an extraplanar abomination being slowly asphyxiated. The svirfneblin clutching her purse next to Miri loses her balance and almost tumbles into her lap.

“You all right?” Miri catches her by the shoulder and is batted away amid a high-pitched, highly-accented rush of Undercommon as the doors slide open. The speakers above her head crackle something that would be unintelligible even if it had been in a language that possessed vowels; she glances at the display in the front of the car to confirm her stop, and slips between the closing doors into a reassuringly dingy station.

She takes a deep breath and can’t resist a small grin. Tethyamar Station is grimy, the dim lights a disturbing greenish-urine colour that match the smell, and there are pieces of old newspaper strewn around. Someone has graffitied a giant chicken on the wall, which is actually a pretty common mistranslation. Out of the corner of her eye she’s pretty sure she can see a rat darting into the tunnel.

She hums fondly. _Home_.

There’s a lift at the Tethyamar stop, but it’s been broken for over a year now, as evidenced by the old poster for _Protection From Evil_ which is glued, unbroken, across the doors. Someone has crossed out the word “evil” and written something in Undercommon above it; Miri assumes it’s either “Good”, “humans”, or “the media”, but it could be “pineapples” and she’d never know the difference. Nath has tried to teach her Undercommon a few times in the last couple thousand years, but has never gotten past the alphabet, which Miri has found she is entirely incapable of pronouncing.

She takes the steps two at a time, and comes out into a street much brighter than she’s used to, and much dirtier than she’d like to think about.

“Oh, five hells,” she says to no one in particular. “Not another one.”

A nearby goblin snorts. “Smart money’s on mystery action-adventure. Male human lead, pale skin, dark hair with stubble.”

“Oh, come on,” she protests as the illusionie crew starts waving for quiet from the crowds waiting irritably to be allowed to walk down their own street. “That’s not a bet.”

“International spy drama,” the goblin offers. “I saw ‘em rigging a carriage flip earlier.”

Miri considers it. “Assassination plot,” she says. The goblin pulls out a book, writes her name in it, and tucks her coins away.

“‘scuse me.” A red-haired succubus approaches them, trailing a smirking drow girl.

“Afternoon,” the goblin answers. “I can give you good odds on a high-stakes murder mystery.”

The succubus waves the offer off and asks, in clear, if stilted, Goblin, “Did you say a carriage flip scene?”

The goblin glances at the drow and grins. “Fancy one on the left. Camera’s aimed right next to the Swordhands’ lettuce stand.” The girls wink at him and run off into the alley.

Freedale’s Underdark District is infamous in the illusionie business. Despite the presence of a meticulously-maintained historical district less than three blocks away, illusionie directors have always seemed to prefer the “more historically accurate” Underdark district. They wax eloquent on how they “discovered” the “piece of history” in the middle of a bustling city and “fell in love” with its charm.

The actual residents of the Underdark District were mildly amused the first time it happened. Since then, they’ve gotten a little more jaded. It’s become a cultural phenomenon, of which every resident is insufferably proud. Try as they might, with the most skillful camera angles and judicious editing in the world, no director to date has ever been able to prevent Freedale’s Underdark district from slipping at least one anachronistic, rude, or otherwise unwanted background event into their final products. There are æthernet sites devoted to finding them. Miri’s personal favourite has always been the scene in _The Paladin of Slaughter_ , a gritty period piece about the rise and fall of Darrell Remington, in which a fruit merchant blatantly checks the time on his smartphone in the background.

Sure enough, when the ungodly expensive controlled Fireball goes off and launches what has to be an equally ungodly expensive, gaudy, powder-blue carriage with gold accents flying through the air, the camera also captures a young drow and succubus getting extremely familiar in the nearby alleyway. The succubus is making an extremely rude gesture to boot. There is no way, when the footage is checked, that the illusionie crew will be able to afford a reshoot.

Kids. Miri’s so proud of them.

Leaving the goblin bookie to his business, Miri turns her back on the lights--they’re uncomfortably bright even for her, and she’s a surface-dweller; the actual Underdark species are wearing two and three pairs of sunglasses just to get up the street. At no point, it seems, have any of the directors who shoot here considered that if the scenes they are shooting require a simulation of natural daylight, they might consider not locating them in _the Underdark District_.

There are a trio of red lights over the main sidewalk exits out of the UD. Officially, these are the only exits--the roads dip down and to the sides in tunnels coming in, to prevent letting in too much sunlight, and small airlock-style arches provide entry along the sidewalks. The residents have also cut slits into most of the alleyways, but as long as nobody acknowledges this the city is under no obligation to fix or enforce the exits, so everyone’s happy. The Freedale City Council doesn’t like being forced to acknowledge the Underdark District when they can help it. By the time they’d acknowledged its existence it had already accumulated around 250 years of unique culture, a recognisable cant, and five square city blocks with entirely blacked-out windows and thick hangings strung between, alongside and above streets and buildings in a concentrated community effort to block out the sun.

(The city had finally given in and installed what was essentially a giant tent over six square blocks, lined--in what was possibly the ultimate irony--with solar panels. The tent paid for itself within two years and the Underdark District continues to be self-sufficient and occasionally provide energy to the rest of the city. The City Council continues to studiously ignore its existence. It’s a working arrangement.)

Miri gropes her way through the first heavy fabric gap, takes a deep breath, screws her eyes shut, and steps into the sun.

A block and a half later when she can see again, she still has to blink several times until the house number stops blurring before she’s confident enough to let herself inside.

And now she’s blind again.

This is a daily occurrence, but Miri still fumbles for the lightswitch and nearly pulls down the curtains in the process (the curtains were the hideous result of Miri letting her colourblind girlfriend shop for housewares on her own; they’ve had them for almost a hundred years now and the green-and-purple polka dot print still hasn’t faded).

Nath makes a disgruntled noise as Miri enters the living room.

“You turned the lights on,” she grumbles, wiggling an arm out of her pile of blankets to grope for the oversized sunglasses on her head. “I was just getting comfortable, too.”

“It’s two in the afternoon,” Miri points out mercilessly, tossing her jacket on top of Nath’s blanket pile and flopping onto the couch next to her. “And it’s the middle of summer! How are you even alive in there?”

“´m from Lowerdark,” Nath mumbles. “It’s cooler in here than the dwarf mines.”

Miri has heard the phrase “hot as a dwarf mine” before, but she decides not to argue the point. She steals a handful of Nath’s popcorn. “What are you doing?”

Nath has at least four different tabs open, none of which Miri can read, because her eyes aren’t capable of picking up negative light, but Nath still angles the backdark screen away from her. “Nothing,” she says, “just watching some spider videos.”

“Right,” says Miri. “These spider videos wouldn’t happen to be on FFQ by any chance? In the deityfic section? I love those spider videos. Those are my favourite spider videos.”

Nath hmphs halfheartedly. “It’s a _Protection From Evil_ fic. I won, in this one!”

Miri stares at her.

“Nath,” she says finally. “Why are you doing this to yourself.”

“Ricin sent it to me,” Nath says defensively. “It’s not even that bad!”

Miri considers it. “Give,” she decides, and Nath turns the screen toward her. She taps the Darkvision key; the screen goes blank for a moment, then switches on again, this time backlit. Nath makes a face and turns the brightness down.

Miri scans the paragraph Nath had been on, and gets as far as the first line of dialogue before cackling.

“You do not talk like that,” she informs her--whatever Nath is. Technically they’ve been married for three thousand years.

“The character did,” Nath points out. “It’s actually a very well-written character piece by _Protection From Evil_ standards.”

“ _Protection From Evil_ didn’t have any standards,” Miri counters. She opens the next tab, which is from EPoF--the Elemental Plane of Fic, a newer and more streamlined collection than the terrifying hellhole that is Fanfiction.qom.

That doesn't mean it isn't still pretty scary. The first summary she sees reads "Chala Auvryren is sent to the World Above on a mission from Lolth. It goes about as well as could be expected. CA/MT." She quickly scrolls down.

> Miria meets an alpha who is everything she could ever hope for. The problem? She's already promised in marriage to the drow princess, Nathcyrl. NC-17. AF/MT, MT/NA, Mirial endgame. Omegaverse, noble!Miria. R&R.

“Nath,” she says carefully. “What’s an omegaverse?”

“Nothing,” Nath says quickly.

“Nath…”

Nath gives her most charming smile, and is promptly distracted by a muted chime from somewhere under the blanket mound. After some searching and grumbling, she manages to fish out her phone. She immediately brightens.

“Go over to Familiar,” she says happily. “Ricin just checked me another one.”

Miri glances at the clock. “She can’t have,” she protests, while switching over to Nath’s Familiar profile to refresh it. “She’s not out of school for another twenty minutes.”

“She’s in Algebra, whatever that is,” Nath says impatiently. “Oh, I know this one, it’s good.”

“I think we have different definitions of ‘good’,” says Miri.

* * *

Ricin Maerret @ricinography

@destructionsally Ooo, this one’s always a classic: http://deityfic.qom/3f68s2

 

Nathcyrl Auvryren ☑ @destructionsally

@ricinography i have it bookmarked ;) have u read http://fanfiction.qom/69d27Cm?

 

Nathcyrl Auvryren ☑ @destructionsally

@ricinography: This is Miri. Do your homework.

 

Ricin Maerret @ricinography

@destructionsally We have a sub today and the class voted we watch PfE, you can’t blame me. Read the fic!

 

Bloodripper Rendfist @itsafamilyname

@ricinography @destructionsally Movie club still on for this weekend? Rice is losing her mind. #KindaCuteActually

 

Nathcyrl Auvryren ☑ @destructionsally

@itsafamilyname obvs #actuallyme

 

Hector Droverson @hectornator

@itsafamilyname AP’s checking phones bro. Headed ur way.

* * *

>  
>
>> ## Sorry, I Don't Speak Common
>> 
>> ###  [incendiarist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/guardingdark/pseuds/guardingdark), [shrrgnien](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mylordshesacactus/pseuds/mylordshesacactus)
>> 
>> ### Summary:
>> 
>> Or, 5 times Miri Thatcher and her soulmate didn’t meet, and 1 time they did.
>> 
>> ### Notes:
>> 
>> Thanks to [Julis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JulisCaesar/pseuds/JulisCaesar) for the fantastic beta! This is a work of fiction based on the History Channel documentary _Throne of the Gods: The Quest to Overthrow Heaven_. We’ve done our best to recreate the 1300s as accurately as we could and to keep everyone IC, but we aren’t historians and obviously we don’t know any of the people in the story. Our major sources besides the documentary were _Demihuman Pantheons Following the Silence of Lolth_ / Rendfist, John (209.00429 R463d) and _The Blood of History: Perspectives on the Rise of the House of Auvryren_ / Maerret, Alyjss (909.307762 M347bl), both of which are really good books that we highly recommend. Rumour has it the authors know Nathcyrl and Miri!
>> 
>> We also sacrificed a pigeon to Nathcyrl just to be on the safe side. Please don’t smite us.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  1.
> 
> In theory, Miri Thatcher had a soulmate.
> 
> She had a soulmark, same as anyone else; simple black script on her left forearm that should have told her what their first words to her would be. Theoretically, that’s what it was already doing, except that she couldn’t read a word of it, and neither could anyone else. It seemed to be in a language that didn’t possess vowels, or possibly she was going to meet her soulmate while they were drowning and/or choking to death on an angry llama. She wasn’t all that worried about it, honestly. She heard all kinds of weird languages in her line of work, so the odds had--in retrospect--been for an incomprehensible soulmark from the beginning. She figured it was one of those things that would only make sense after it had already happened.
> 
> It’d still be nice to know what language it was, though.
> 
> Some people were lucky. Her niece Alice, for example. The classic story, really; she’d been introduced to a little boy named James down the street when she was just over a year old, been crying her head off, and calmed down immediately when he wobbled over to offer her a wooden toy. Of course this also meant that they had the words “Frog?” and “Thankoo” permanently branded on their bodies, but they didn’t seem to mind.
> 
> Carter’s was just ridiculous. His father and mother had the standard sort of exchange-- “Let me help you with that?” and “Oh, thank you, normally my sister helps me but she’s sick” respectively. Carter’s was straight out of a song, and everyone could tell he was going to be the sort of hero that would provide them with even more trite, overemotional ballads. _Normal people_ didn’t have soulmarks in delicate, slanted Elven that translated to “I’ve waited my whole life for you, my lord, and it was worth every moment of loneliness.”
> 
> Miri shook her head. Damn kid. She couldn’t perform parodies of even the most ludicrous rainbow-vomit ballads about her own _nephew_. She shuddered preemptively. Golden-haired, blue-eyed, sweet-natured Carter Thatcher with his serious expression and slow, gentle demeanor toward small animals was going to be the death of her, she could tell that already. She didn’t dare to think what his soulmate’s mark was like. There’d be seventeen different songs about that meeting within a week, she was certain of it.
> 
> There was a whistle from the next table, and she looked up. A wealthy-looking goblin merchant gave her a once-over and whistled again, and she made a complicated gesture that meant something in goblin akin to “your mother’s ears belong in a pickle jar”.
> 
> “Fuck off, asshole,” she added for emphasis. It was actually one of the few Goblin phrases she could pronounce correctly. She got a lot of practice.
> 
> Some of the smugness dropped from the merchant’s face. “Wait,” he asked, leaning forward. “Can I see your arm?”
> 
> Miri rolled her eyes and pulled her sleeve up. She knew enough Goblin to be absolutely certain that this wasn’t it, and the merchant looked disappointed. She decided she didn’t have the energy to point out that if his soulmate’s first words to him were going to be “Fuck off, asshole,” he might want to do some soul-searching.
> 
> “Damn,” the merchant said. The lecherous grin was starting to make a comeback. “Wouldn’t mind a destiny that came looking like you. Feel like passing some time while we wait?”
> 
> “No.” She started to pull her sleeve down again, then paused. “Do you know what it said?”
> 
> The goblin glanced at it. “Sorry,” he said. “Don’t speak Common.”
> 
> Miri reaffirmed her policy of never asking questions of people too drunk to see straight, and went back to her cold plate of something that was probably a meat product.
> 
> 2.
> 
> Nathaxrl Auvryren’s soulmark formed when he was three years old. This was a reasonable age gap, his mother, Sinryne, thought, and had it immediately covered.
> 
> For peasants, soulmarks were a nearly infallible way to form a love match. For nobility, it was more complicated. It was not easy to forge a soulmark, but it could be done, and any ambitious person might discover the words written on a noble’s skin and decide to take a very large step up the social ladder.
> 
> The soulmarks of the ruling class were very carefully guarded. No one would see Nathaxrl’s “Your spider is very pretty” except for Sinryne and some loyal servants, ordered to secrecy on pain of death. She didn’t doubt even a boy’s soulmark would be taken advantage of, and the public leak of her twenty-year-old daughter Chala’s soulmark had been _disastrous_. The servant or slave who had been responsible for it had never been discovered; Sinryne had never had to execute so many members of the Household before, and did not particularly want to do so again.
> 
> Nathcyrl Auvryren informed her mother she was a girl when she was four years old.
> 
> It was a very interesting year. Chala had met the person whom everyone was quite certain was her soulmate, if only because he was such an ass it was difficult to imagine him being anyone _else’s_ , and the two of them got along like a house on fire, with all of the collateral damage. Sinryne had to execute no less than seven people who had refused to use her younger daughter’s name and pronouns, including Nathcyrl’s caretaker. At least this time only two of them had actually been members of the Household. She didn’t enjoy killing her staff; she liked to have a relationship of at least mutual non-hatred with the people preparing her food.
> 
> Nathcyrl’s new caretaker was a human woman whose name Sinryne could not pronounce. She had been a kitchen slave for several years, and an unremarkable adventurer before that. She had a good grasp of her own abilities, and a good sense of humour. She was also mostly illiterate, which was always nice. The fewer Chalas in the world the better, on a number of levels.
> 
> Sinryne was aware she was taking a gamble on the girl; she really was a thoroughly average individual, but she seemed honest at least; perhaps slightly _too_ honest for her position, but then that meant it was just as well she’d been promoted before her tendency toward frankness led her to speak just a little more freely than a noblewoman could tolerate from her kitchen slaves and expect to maintain control. And this way she had a servant who had no reason to lie to her, every reason to be grateful for the opportunity she’d been given, and was no great loss if she proved unworthy of it. Certainly... Caroline, she thought it was... would have nothing to gain and everything to lose by betraying her mistress’ trust.
> 
> Besides, Nathcyrl seemed to like her.
> 
> When Nathcyrl was five years old, her soulmark disappeared.
> 
> Sinryne was not there for that, and it was several days before she was able to get the full story, coherently, from an exhausted Caroline. She’d come within inches of having the human thrown into a dungeon and flayed alive when she’d first arrived; all the evidence had pointed to treachery on her part. Kidnapping at best. Any fondness Sinryne had harbored for the girl only made the betrayal more vicious.
> 
> The only thing that had stayed her hand was Nathcyrl’s condition. It wasn’t answers she paused for; those, she knew with grim certainty, she would have from Caroline one way or another. Her daughter was barely recognisable--and yet after everything, even clinging to consciousness by a thread with the men hired to find her on either side, the child curled into Caroline like she was the only solid thing in the world. The human’s eyes were full of brief, genuine terror when the House guards and healers moved in to take the girl from her.
> 
> A temporary stay of execution was _not_ forgiveness, but even the confused explanation she got from Caroline that first night was enough that Sinryne had at least decided to have her killed quickly--her anger aside, Caroline had been a good and trusted servant whom she was convinced enough was not at fault for Nathcyrl’s torture. Eventually, after the woman had slept--in a cell, under heavy guard, but subjected to no other discomfort--her story had slowly come out, and even after her utter failure in her duties Sinryne didn’t have the heart to slit her throat. It was, after all, not Caroline’s fault that she had been given the position of Nathcyrl’s de facto protector with little or no ability to defend the child; she broke down barely three sentences into her account of what had been done to the girl, begging forgiveness that she had been powerless to do anything but offer her comfort and love.
> 
> In the end and after her anger had cooled, Sinryne was forced to conclude that Caroline had done nothing wrong--and truly, had they been even slightly closer to equals, would have deserved thanks. Something in Caroline’s expression upon hearing that she would be excused her failure in light of her previous service and her assistance given freely to the rescue team suggested that she knew what her mistress meant by the words. That she knew at least a little of what Sinryne could never say while maintaining a public image of control.
> 
> She rubbed her left arm absently. _Your name, girl?_ It wasn’t such an uncommon greeting that Caroline would have thought much of it, despite its presence on her arm; Sinryne had seen the brief start of surprise, of course, but Caroline’s immediate dismissal of whatever thought had appeared in her head was plain in her expression. She always had been an open book. No doubt she’d already forgotten that there had been anything significant about her first, brief conversation with her mistress.
> 
> “ _Caroline, ma’am; former wandering rogue, though obviously not a very good one,_ ” however; that was not a phrase a Lowerdark noble ever expected to hear more than once. She’d never had a chance. She’d let herself slip briefly out of the role of heading a rising star in the politics of the Underdark as a whole; she’d done it in favor of a budding affection she could not control and a cluster of pale words along her arm, and Nathcyrl had come home with her own left forearm slashed to the bone as the least of her injuries. The friendly, innocent greeting of a child’s soulmark--tangible evidence of a future in which she had a chance at happiness--was gone as if it had never existed.
> 
> Perhaps the scars simply ran so deep that her sweet, gentle little girl would never be capable of trust and love again--that she was changed so irrevocably she would never be compatible with the one who had previously been destined to bring her happiness. Sinryne hated to hope for that to be the case--for Fileth’s ritual to have failed. She’d heard Caroline’s description of the scene, of what had been done. She knew what it meant, although her--daughter’s caretaker--didn’t.
> 
> If Nathcyrl’s soulmark had vanished, it might simply be because she no longer had a soul to offer.
> 
> 3.
> 
> Miri pulled up a stool beside Rayachlor. “Well,” she said.
> 
> Xe laughed. “Sorry. You’re not actually half bad, you know. I’ll buy you a drink.”
> 
> Miri accepted the tankard with good grace, considering she’d never actually performed for a crowd this loose with their coin while simultaneously managing to run negative tips. She really hadn’t completely thought through the strategy of performing alongside a succubus. “Thanks?” she said. It wasn’t the best compliment, but she figured Rayachlor had a different definition of ‘good’ than she did. Probably.
> 
> Rayachlor sat back in xir seat, humming happily and stretching xir wings with a contented sigh. The jaded barmaid ducked under one to continue her rounds without so much as blinking.
> 
> “Good crowd tonight,” xe mused, tossing a slightly wilted strawberry into the air and catching it in xir mouth. Xe immediately made a face. “Don’t recommend the fruit, by the way.”
> 
> “You don’t say,” Miri deadpanned.
> 
> Rayachlor grinned wickedly. “It’s a talent, what can I say? You could show a bit more skin, you know.”
> 
> Miri rolled her eyes and took a drink. “No point with you around.”
> 
> Rayachlor’s lips twitched. “I don’t know,” xe drawled. “Cute little thing like you, we could put an act together.” Xe winked and sat back in a way that let Miri know xe was joking. “Say the word, Thatcher. ‘Course,” xe added, “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of a cousin.”
> 
> Miri frowned. “You what?”
> 
> Rayachlor nodded to her bare arm. “Your sweetheart. They’re from my neck of the woods, yeah? Wouldn’t have pegged you for it, but it takes all sorts.”
> 
> “Your neck of the woods?”
> 
> Rayachlor made a face. “Is that not how you use that phrase? We don’t really have woods where I come from. You know, my neighborhood? Homeland? Plane of origin? Hellscape?” When Miri gave no indication of understanding, xe said slowly, “Your soulmate’s an Outsider, cutie.”
> 
> “Oh,” said Miri faintly. “That’s good to know. Any chance you can tell me what this says, then?”
> 
> Rayachlor sat forward and took her hand, tilting xir head to see the mark. “Sorry,” xe said. “I don’t speak Common.”
> 
> Miri frowned at her arm. “Yeah,” she decided. “That’s definitely not Common.”
> 
> Rayachlor choked on xir tongue in a very, very bad attempt to not laugh. “Oh, sweetheart,” xe said. “No, I mean your arm says ‘Sorry, I don’t speak Common’. I mean, technically it says something ridiculously posh like ‘I offer my sincerest apology, for I am unfamiliar with the common language of the World Above’, but, you know. Good for you,” xe said approvingly. “Confidence’ll get you everywhere, aim high!”
> 
> So not only was her soulmate possibly a demon, they might be a demon _lord_. “Huh,” she said. “What, uh, language is that?”
> 
> Rayachlor waved xir hand dismissively. “Undercommon,” xe said. “Everyone and their aunt speaks it, I just don’t know many, oh... orcs, who talk like that.” Xe nudged Miri’s leg under the table. “So you haven’t met yet! That’s _adorable_.” Xe ran a thumb along xir own soulmark, which didn’t even look like a language so much as an extremely angry scribble. “Ronnie,” xe said fondly. “Still remember our first meeting. Ne was waving nir tentacles all over the place. Wasn’t at all happy about being summoned by some upstart would-be sorcerers, but I talked nem down a bit. Ne was much less grumpy after having uppity sorcerer souls for dinner. Ah, I miss nem. Still, won’t be long now.”
> 
> “Won’t be long until what?” Miri was honestly a little afraid to ask.
> 
> Rayachlor blinked. “Well, I was only summoned for a year and the idiot didn’t have nearly the power to extend it even if he was still alive. So, I’ll see Ronnie again in a few weeks. It’s almost too bad, I would have liked to see who you ended up with. Shame that mark’s not Abyssal, I could introduce you to some of me and Ronnie’s friends. No harm in trying, right?”
> 
> “I’m really, really good,” Miri said as politely as she could while trying not to faint.
> 
> Xe sighed. “Ah well. Wait, you don’t speak Undercommon?”
> 
> “Um,” said Miri. “No.”
> 
> Rayachlor shook xir head. “Well, that’s not going to do you any good, you should at least know what it sounds like.” The sound xe made then was, in fact, almost exactly like a succubus choking to death on a llama.
> 
> Miri felt rather vindicated, but she still tucked the pronunciation away for future reference.
> 
> 4.
> 
> It was times like these, Miri decided, that made soulmarks more trouble than they were worth. Calimport was a city that had once been described to her by another bard as “a wretched hive of scum and villainy”, and while it was only her first day in town, she hadn’t yet found any reason to disagree.
> 
> The tavern she was in right now was, like every other tavern in town, run by the mafia, and it served watery, overpriced ale and week-old pretzels. The patrons weren’t much better, either; there were at least six orcs in here that she could see, one of whom was covered in blood. It didn’t seem to be his own. There was a trio sitting in a corner, in deep discussion. One of them had tentacles coming out of their _face_.
> 
> If these people didn’t tip as well as they did, she’d have been out of here hours ago. Or, preferably, never have come within a mile of the place. But here she was, and there was that one really tall guy with pits of fire instead of eyes in the corner that she was aggressively not looking at, and wow, did she ever need a drink.
> 
> One of the orcs nudged his friend as she walked by, grunting something she was perfectly happy not to understand. The friend leered at her with more malice than usual; enough that she was careful to turn her chair just enough that she could keep them both in the corner of her eye, just in case.
> 
> “Say something,” she muttered to the goblin already at the table as she slid in across from him. He was glaring at her distrustfully, like he expected her to try to steal his purse. Or seduce him, she allowed. It wasn’t an uncommon assumption in these places; half the time ‘bard’ meant something else completely. “Pretend you’re talking to me.”
> 
> The goblin glared more, and grunted something uncomfortably familiar. It didn’t sound quite the same, but...well, she didn’t _speak_ Undercommon. A lot of the sounds were the same.
> 
> “Um,” she said, suddenly fumbling for what little Goblin she knew. “You…?” she awkwardly rolled her sleeve up.
> 
> For the first time, the badly-scarred goblin cracked a smile. “Nah,” he said, and rolled up his own sleeve. “Waiting for someone to tell me to get the hell away from their chickens.”
> 
> Miri winced. “Slower?” she asked. The goblin snorted, but repeated the sentence. “Right. To thank.”
> 
> “Thank you,” he corrected. Then, “Fuck kind of people you talking to? Nobody in a place like this talks like that.”
> 
> “Thinking money to say demon friend,” she tried.
> 
> “Your demon friend thinks they got money?” he translated. “Hah. Yeah, they got money all right. Probably a title.” He gestured to the tavern at large. “Won’t find ‘em here. Unless you’re gonna be some crime boss’ girl. That happens, remember me, yeah?”
> 
> Miri snorted. “Do yes.”
> 
> The goblin thought for a minute, then said, “Well. Might be in the corner. Aberrations, you never know with them. Gonna go over and say hello?”
> 
> “Yeah,” said Miri. “No. Not am want to be knowing.”
> 
> The goblin laughed harshly. “Figured.”
> 
> Miri took a long, careful drink.
> 
> “Orc friend to be watching still me?” she muttered. The goblin grunted an affirmative. Miri muttered an approximation of a satisfyingly guttural Underdark curse she’d heard once. The goblin raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
> 
> Miri stood casually, trying to avoid calling attention to herself as she made for the door. The goblin shook his head, so she gathered she hadn’t done a very good job of it. The fact that she’d bathed in the last month already made her stick out like a sore thumb in this place.
> 
> Still, she’d just about managed to duck outside with minimal stares when she was interrupted by the orc table.
> 
> “You. Elf-girl!” It couldn’t quite be called a grunt, and it wasn’t really a call, either. ‘Booming’ was closest word she could think of. One of the orcs--the one with the charming chipped teeth and what looked like rat skulls strung along one sleeve--dragged his eyes down her and slapped his thigh. “Here. Come, uh... sing for us, yes?” His friends gave low, barking laughs like it was the wittiest euphemism they’d ever heard. The sad thing was they were probably right. “Won’t even hurt you too bad.”
> 
> Her goblin friend glanced at her. “Smart thing would be to say yes,” he said mildly. “Orcs. Nasty tempers. Almost as bad as the smell.”
> 
> “Am not be smart much,” Miri muttered. He nodded in agreement and she turned back to the door.
> 
> She tried very hard, afterwards, to avoid thinking about exactly how wrong the whole scenario could have gone. In the moment, she didn’t have time to do much but marvel at how perfect her timing was. The orcs--who took to rejection with all the grace of a housecat to water--started after her, she heard that much even if she didn’t see it. One of them started to growl a threat, but he was interrupted by the fact that Miri had just passed a humanoid creature with a plate of mashed potatoes, casually scooped its dinner off the table, and spun it into his face.
> 
> Yep. Definitely time to run now.
> 
> The orcs started after her just in time to trip in a glorious pile over the chair that had appeared in front of them without warning; Miri made a mental note that if by some miracle she ever met her goblin friend again, she was buying him every drink that had ever existed. By sheer luck one of them happened to grab the humanoid by the scruff as he fell.
> 
> Miri had never actually seen an orc liquify from the inside out before. She was fairly certain she never wanted to see it again. Ever.
> 
> One of the orc-puddle’s friends decided to punch the dark mage in the face, which went about as well as could be expected. Luckily for him, he missed. Somewhat less luckily, his punch connected squarely with the face of that one guy who had fire for eyes.
> 
> Miri very, very quietly worked her way toward the door as the tavern exploded into an all-out brawl.
> 
> “Hey!” the owner called from behind the bar as she was about to slip out. “You’ve still got a tab to pay!”
> 
> “Sorry,” she called quickly. “I don’t speak Common!”
> 
> She just barely managed to duck through the doors before squid-face, encased completely in a block of ice, flew past.
> 
> She was going to count this one as a success.
> 
> 5.
> 
> “Allerod,” Nathcyrl pleaded. “Help.”
> 
> Allerod was not helping. He was standing at least 5 metres away, and he was _laughing_ at her.
> 
> She picked her feet up higher, threatening to teeter off the fence as she attempted to keep them out of range of her assailant.
> 
> “Allerod!”
> 
> The human toddler poked her hip.
> 
> “Whatchu?” it babbled.
> 
> She stared at it and waved her hand vaguely.
> 
> “Go away,” she told it. It picked its nose. “Allerod, get rid of it!”
> 
> “He likes you,” Allerod said, fighting back a smile. She didn’t care if it _liked_ her. Its _skin_ was _sticky_. And it was _touching_ her. “You know, you’re going to have to deal with humans if you want your quest to succeed. If you can’t get rid of a two-year-old, you really should consider waiting.”
> 
> “What two year old is going to be on a quest?” she said incredulously. “...Can I kill it?”
> 
> “ _Nathcyrl_!”
> 
> “It was just a question,” she muttered.
> 
> She and the small human stared at each other. The small human finally removed its finger from its nose in favor of inserting the entire hand in its mouth. She cringed.
> 
> “If you were bigger I’d cook you for supper,” she told it seriously.
> 
> It grinned widely. Before she could explain, politely, that she was threatening its life and the proper response to such a thing was fear, she was interrupted by a hastily stifled shriek from nearby. A human woman--at least Nathcyrl assumed it was a woman--with the same curly hair and eerily light eyes as the toddler seemed to have just noticed what it was up to. It was a good thing Nathcyrl wasn’t a dire bat, or the woman’s offspring would have suffered for her lack of parental skills. Nathcyrl had no idea how humans survived infancy.
> 
> “There,” she said gratefully. The toddler continued sucking its hand. “Your mother is over _there_ ,” she informed it again, pointing at the woman in case it didn’t have the capacity to understand. It drooled. Gingerly, she rolled up one sleeve so that nothing... sticky... got on it, and reached out to very carefully push the creature in the right direction.
> 
> “White!” it said ecstatically. “Arm white!”
> 
> Nath looked at Allerod helplessly. “What is it saying?”  
>   
> “He likes your soulmark because it’s white.”
> 
> “Oh.”
> 
> She shook the sleeve down quickly. The mark had appeared when she was thirty-three, to the abject shock of her mother and Caroline. Nathcyrl had never quite understood that; there were plenty of people, in longer-lived species, whose soulmarks took decades to appear because their match was of a younger species--or else they simply weren’t destined to meet until both of them were of an age where the difference would be relatively minor. Given that the mark was in Common, it was likely Nathcyrl’s case was the former.
> 
> Nathcyrl had always wondered what it was about her soulmark that had made her mother drop her glass when she’d mentioned its appearance, but neither she nor Caroline had ever said anything about it. Chala, of course, thought it was hilarious; not only that Nathcyrl’s _soulmate_ was a surface dweller of some sort, but the phrase itself. _I haven’t been paid yet, if that’s what you’re after_. Caroline had translated it for her. Chala very vocally believed that Nathcyrl was destined for a particularly pushy prostitute.
> 
> She had never been bold enough to leak Nathcyrl’s exact mark; only three people knew of it, and even Chala wasn’t stupid enough to think her mother would ever believe Caroline had done it. But somehow, the vague nature of the mark had made its way around the cavern and then--given Auvryren’s location--to a rather large section of the Underdark. Even her mother had, on a few occasions, delicately suggested that as Nathcyrl was maturing she might consider hiring some companionship for herself, on occasion.
> 
> Drow didn’t have the same strange hangups about monogamy that humans did. That was still a conversation Nathcyrl had absolutely no desire to ever acknowledge, ever again, at any point in her life for any reason. Even Caroline had been burying her face in her hands in the background.
> 
> “My arm isn’t white,” she started to explain to the human in the hopes that it would go away. “Drow soulmarks appear white, and even amongst humans there is considerable variation of soulmark colours based on the level of pigmentation in their skin.”
> 
> She got as far as “My arm” before she was hit in the face with a broom.
> 
> The child’s mother was shouting, pulling the child away by the collar and putting herself in front of him like a shield. She was rather uncomfortably close to Nathcyrl, and she brandished her broom like a sword.
> 
> Nathcyrl raised her hands placatingly.  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m afraid I don’t speak Common,” she said desperately. “I wasn’t doing anything to your child either. If you had been paying attention you would notice that it was the one doing the terrorising in this situation! _Allerod_ , if you do not help me _right now--_ ”
> 
> Allerod was not laughing again. He was not laughing again because he had never stopped laughing in the first place. “What?” he asked breathlessly. “You’ll get-- defeated-- by a toddler?”
> 
> “Or I’ll cast Negative Energy Rift and instantaneously kill everyone in a five mile radius,” she hissed.
> 
> Allerod sobered. Giving her a Righteously Reproachful look, he edged between her and the manic human woman. He placed a hand on the woman’s arm and led her casually away, checking to make sure the toddler was following them. Nathcyrl shuddered. Nothing that sticky should exist.
> 
> Nathcyrl, Epic-level Dread Necromancer, Heir to the Auvryren Estate, Avatar of Lolth, sat on a fencepost and pouted.
> 
> Allerod _so_ owed her a drink after all this.
> 
> +1
> 
> This was not how Miri had intended to meet her soulmate.
> 
> There were worse ways, sure; her soulmate could have been a highwayman and Miri’s desperate pleas to be allowed to live been met with a mocking grin and “Sorry, I don’t speak Common.” Her soulmate could have been the demon lord she’d been kidnapped and used as a blood sacrifice for the summoning ritual used to bring them to the Prime Material Plane, in which case she’d still probably die, if possibly not at her own soulmate’s hands/tentacles/assorted appendages.
> 
> There were a lot of ways this could have gone, and some of them were pretty awful, but that didn’t mean she’d count catching her soulmate thieving from her as a win. For one thing, she lacked the coordination and self-preservation instinct to join their profession. And it would be _terrible_ for business.
> 
> “I haven’t been paid yet, if that’s what you’re after,” she told the shadow in the corner. It paused, and when it replied she almost dropped her lute. The accent was different, the emphasis was in the wrong places, but the sounds themselves were almost identical to what she remembered.
> 
> Well. In that case, they probably weren’t a thief. From what Ray had said, they were way too rich for that. To be honest Miri had been going to a lot of trouble to ignore that bit. She’d have been a good deal more comfortable around a thief than a noble.
> 
> In careful Goblin, she asked, “...What you are said?”
> 
> There was an exasperated sigh from the corner. “Am said,” a voice explained with careful patience, “that I am not to be speaking Common.”
> 
> “Yeah.” Miri fumbled with her lamp in a daze. “Is what I thought you were to say.”
> 
> The figure in the corner flinched away as she finally managed to light the lamp; they were smaller than she expected, flinging up an arm to cover their face when the light flared. Miri quickly moved the lamp behind the nightstand. She knew a little about Darkvision--she’d done a bit of asking, once she learned her soulmate was probably an Underdark resident. Sure enough, the figure relaxed a bit once the light was dimmed.
> 
> “Bright in bar much?” Miri asked sympathetically. She tried to stay calm. She didn’t even know if this was the right _person_. It could be anyone. And she’d always said she wasn’t really concerned with this kind of thing.
> 
> Ever so casually, she angled her left forearm so that the figure could see it.
> 
> They leaned forward; she couldn’t see their face very well, but it looked like they were frowning a bit. “Yes,” they said. “You are not to be being angry with--” Suddenly, flat red eyes grew even wider. Miri gave a little half-wave.
> 
> The figure hugged themselves. “What you were to be saying?” they asked hesitantly. “When you were to walk in.”
> 
> “What?” Miri blinked. “Oh, right. I, um, I was to be thinking you were a thief.” She considered this. “ _Are_ you to be a thief?”
> 
> “No,” the figure answered slowly. “I am to be…” They hesitated, then, slowly, rolled up the sleeve of their robe and held their arm out for inspection.
> 
> There was a long, ropy scar along almost the entire length of their forearm--old and faded, but still prominent--but Miri’s attention was grabbed immediately by the thin white writing marking the skin over it.
> 
> _I haven’t been paid yet, if that’s what you’re after._
> 
> “Oh.” Her mouth went dry. “Hello.”
> 
> “Ah,” said the figure. “Is there any other languages you are to be speaking?” they asked, very reasonably.
> 
> “Do you speak Common?” Miri asked, before realising exactly how monumentally stupid a question it was. “I mean... Elven?”
> 
> They relaxed visibly. “Oh, thank Lolth,” they sighed. “Elven is fine.” The accent was wholly unfamiliar but it was undeniably posh.
> 
> Miri let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. “Oh, good.” She hadn’t been looking forward to trying to hobble through a conversation in Goblin. “Um.” Now she wished she’d paid more attention when preteen girls giggled about the Rules for when you met your soulmate. Surely there was some kind of protocol for this that she didn’t know. “I’m Miri,” she offered. “Miria Thatcher. Level six Bard.”
> 
> “Nathcyrl Auvryren,” they replied. There was a pause, and then they held out a tentative hand. “Legitimate daughter and heir of House Auvryren, twenty-second level Dread Necromancer.”
> 
> “Right,” Miri said faintly. “Nice to meet you.”
> 
> Nath...whatever smiled, sort of. “The pleasure is mine.” Pale eyebrows went up, and she sat forward, suddenly looking much less shy. “May I ask you something?”
> 
> Miri blinked. “Sure?” she said. “I’m not very interesting.”
> 
> Nath rested her chin on her hands, looking very intense. “I apologise if this is an indelicate question,” she said. “Are you a prostitute?”
> 
> “...Come again?”
> 
> “I don’t care,” Nath assured her. “But it would settle an old argument. We just met. It would hardly be my place to judge, and you would actually find that drow culture as a rule has far fewer stigmas than most surface cultures about such things. I’m just curious.”
> 
> “Um,” said Miri. “No? Is this because I’m a bard, or…?”
> 
> Nath looked like she was sitting a little taller now. “I apologise if I made you uncomfortable,” she said smugly. At least, Miri thought it sounded smug. Underdark species were sort of hit-or-miss about those things. “I just love it when my sister is wrong. Chala has been making disparaging comments about my soulmark for the past forty-two years. If you had said yes I would have been equally pleased that we met by chance.”
> 
> “Right,” said Miri. Well, there were worse reasons for asking. “Well.”
> 
> “Well,” Nath agreed.
> 
> There was an awkward pause.
> 
> Finally, Miri shook her head with an embarrassed grin. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was actually about to go to bed when...you know, you.”
> 
> “Right.”
> 
> “You, um. You can. Spend the night, if you want. Just, you know. With me. Nothing…”
> 
> “Of course,” Nath agreed.
> 
> “Yes. I’ll--light.”
> 
> This was really, emphatically not how Miri had intended to meet her soulmate.
> 
> That wasn’t to say she _minded_. 
> 
>  
>
>>   
>  [PlusOneToSpellcheck](www), [xXxCEFangirlxXx](ff), [protectionfromalignmentism](ffff), [Nathia4Ever](ggggggg), [sexytentacles](fffffffff), [Copfe](words), [ricinography](hi%20ricin), [DreadNecRomancer](hi%20nath), and [PizzaGolem](ddddd) as well as 15 guests liked this work!
>> 
>>  
> 
> ####  [PlusOneToSpellcheck](www) 20 Flamerule 4024 10:22N ST
>
>> i’m new to fic and i’ve never read rpf before but goblt user ricinography recc’d this and i’m really glad i read it! the soulmate twist is really original and cute. i can tell you put a lot of effort into making the characters accurate. good job!
> 
> ####  [ DreadNecRomancer](hi%20nath) 25 Flamerule 4024 05:52M FT
>
>> Wow. Where do I start? The characterisation was spot-on, and the historical accuracy is pretty impressive too. Miri really did get propositions every time she turned around until Nathcyrl showed up. It was ridiculous.
>> 
>> I never thought about Lady Auvryren’ and Caroline’s relationship before as anything other than platonic but now I can’t see it as anything other than romantic? It makes so much more sense? I think I kind of hate you.
>> 
>> Some historical nitpicking: Nathcyrl would have covered her ears when Miri came in; at the time ears were considered a sexual organ in drow culture. If you look at Nathcyrl even today she’s very careful to keep them covered, which says a lot about how scandalous it would have been for a drow noblewoman to show her ears at the time. Miri actually _was_ mistaken for a prostitute because she didn’t cover her ears when she visited Auvryren Cavern. True story. And speaking of Miri, she was going by the surname Scuttleleaf when she and Nathcyrl met. Just pointing it out. It’s a totally understandable mistake, because I don’t think there are any books written in Common which talk about that?
>> 
>> Still, this was a great interpretation, and very enjoyable to read! I love the 5+1 format, you can get so much story into a very small wordcount, and I’m a total sucker for soulmate AUs: I’m surprised I’ve never seen a Nathcyrl/Miri one before, considering they have a soul _bond_. Great work, and I’m excited to see more from you both in the future! c:
>
>> ####  [shrrgnien](/users/mylordshesacactus/pseuds/mylordshesacactus) 25 Flamrule 4024 11:23M ST
>>
>>> Thanks for the long review!
>>> 
>>> haha, yeah, Sinryne/Caroline is kind of my historical OTP. (I’d say that honor belonged to Nath and Miri, but they’re not exactly “historical”.) I really recommend ‘The Framework of Freedom: An Analysis of Underdark Social Reform in the Context of the Homosocial Bond Between Sinryne Auvryren and Caroline Reed’ by Dr Vicryl Noquar. It makes some great points about how without her influence, Alice Auvryren-Thatcher’s reforms might never have gained a foothold. Or, if you want something less dry, I have a [fic](fake). [Actually](also%20fake), [several](definitely%20fake) [fics](still%20fake). I don’t have a problem.
>>> 
>>> Yeah, sadly we’re just ficauthors and we’re not experts on the time period. Thanks for pointing out the mistakes! We’re actually busy with a new project right now so I think we’ll leave this fic where it is, but it’s good to know what we can improve on in the future! If we get a chance, we might come back and fix it.
>>> 
>>> Thanks again for taking the time to tell us what you thought! I agree these two are PERFECT for soulmate AUs (and dark!AUs, and abo AUs…) and I really like the 5+1 format too, so it’s always good to hear other people enjoy them!
> 
> ####  Miri Thatcher 3 Marpenoth 4024 04:27N FT
>
>> Ha ha. Speaking of historical nitpicking, your orc would have been among the more polite ones.
>> 
>> That being said, you’re better at being me than I am. It’s creepy. I mean, feel free to continue, I’m just _saying_.
>> 
>> (No, this actually was pretty good. I was surprised by how accurate a lot of it was, even allowing for the soulmate stuff. Nice job. I can respect a good adaptation. Being me, and all. Just like my wife up there, who is pretending not to be herself and doing a terrible job at it. Hi, Nath. It’s your turn on dish duty again.)

* * *

Nathcyrl Auvryren ☑ @destructionsally

got the laptop back! #victory

 

Miri Thatcher ☑ @fuckerotica

@ricinography: I cannot believe I read that. I can't believe I ENJOYED it.

 

Ricin Maerret @ricinography

@fuckerotica It's great, isn't it? Gotta go. #SchoolsOut

 

Miri Thatcher ☑ @fuckerotica

@ricinography: I will never forgive you for this.


End file.
